


The Accidental Queenship of Gabré Rosehalk

by Massiel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Amaran (Star Wars), Assassination Plot(s), Gen, Golden Age of the Republic (Star Wars), Handmaidens, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Political Intrigue, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 13:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14594211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Massiel/pseuds/Massiel
Summary: Four years after the Trade Federation's invasion, just as Naboo heads into an election cycle, there is an attempt to assassinate Queen Amidala. Gabre, a Jedi who was born on and loves Naboo, is sent to go undercover among the handmaidens and find the culprit. Along the way, she meets a Force-sensitive Amaran and wonders if she can ever really belong to a planet she didn't grow up on. (The answer, of course, is yes.)





	The Accidental Queenship of Gabré Rosehalk

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just have to write an extra long self-insert fic, because your name practically belongs on Naboo, and you've always wanted to be a Jedi, not to mention one of Amidala's handmaidens. And then you buddy up to save the day with a cute fox alien for good measure. Not meant to be a masterpiece, just meant to be fun and make me happy, because I would never be this much of a badass in real life. (Also, fair warning, I might rename this. I just can't think of the right title.)

Of all the reasons for Gabré to be called before the Jedi Council, she never dreamed it would be her secret but fierce devotion to her home planet. She hasn’t returned to Naboo since leaving it in infancy and being brought to Coruscant, but the green planet has captivated her imagination. When she meditates, she pictures herself surrounded by its lush greenness. When she studies interplanetary relations, she finds excuses to catch up on Nabooian current events. And everyone in the Temple has heard of Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan Kenobi’s exploits during the Trade Federation’s invasion, if only bits and pieces.

Gabré has an inkling that this level of fascination with Naboo borders on attachment and violation of the Code.

So it’s wholly unexpected when Yoda leans forward in his little seat—less than half the size of the others in the chamber—points at her with a gnarled green finger, and says, “To Naboo, we are sending you.”

She blinks. “Excuse me, Master Yoda?” This is… Force, this is a surprise, and a dream come true. She straightens her back, waiting for him to elaborate, resisting the urge to tug at her sleeves.

“Hmm. Yes. In trouble again, young Queen Amidala is.”

_Again?_ Gabré silently questions. Only a few years have passed since the Trade Federation debacle, and her research has indicated that Naboo continually errs on the side of idealism and peace. What kind of trouble could its queen possibly find herself in so soon?

“I understand, Master. What are the circumstances and the mission?”

It is Mace Windu that answers her. “We received a communication from the head of the queen’s security forces, by way of Master Kenobi. He believes that there is an assassin in Theed. They’ve already engaged their handmaiden decoy protocols, but they anticipate more than they can handle alone, and ulterior motives. You will go to Naboo, join the handmaidens and eliminate the assassin, then return.”

He fixes her with a stern look, ostensibly meant to deter her from entertaining any thoughts of lingering on the planet after her objective is carried out. In all honesty, she hadn’t considered it, and now that she has… Well, she wouldn’t stay _long_.

She inclines her head slightly. “Of course.”

“Guarded, you must be,” Yoda says, nodding firmly. “Idyllic Naboo may appear, but beneath its surface, dangers lurk.”

Gabré knows he means this both literally—there are enormous alien fish the size of small spacecrafts that swim through the planet’s liquid core—and figuratively. Roses, like the ones her family name come from, the only thing tying her to Naboo, have thorns, after all. She nods.

Mace Windu waves a dismissal. “Then go and make your preparations. You’re cleared for immediate takeoff. May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you, Masters,” she says automatically, bowing. Her hood slides forward and she quickly stands up before it can fall over her head. She exits, the Council chamber door sliding behind her, rubbing her thumb back and forth on the hilt of her lightsaber while she attempts to mentally digest what’s happening.

She’s going to step foot on her home planet for the first time she can consciously remember. 

She’s going to become one of the queen’s handmaidens and fight in the defense of Amidala herself. 

She’s going to find this assassin that dares threaten the peace of Naboo.

It may only be her first solo mission, but Gabré can feel it in the Force--this is the one that is going to change her life.

 

* * *

 

Two impassive girls her age meet Gabré at the hangar, standing like carved marble as she hops out of her ship, stretches, and drops to the ground. They wear floor-length cloaks of velvet, emblazoned with the emblem of the royal house of Naboo, and Gabré wonders how they can expect to defend their queen in such heavy, enveloping clothing.

Then again, somehow they’ve managed to do it before. She’s looking forward to hearing about what makes this time different enough that they need the help of a Jedi.

One of the handmaidens, with no prompting, practically glides across the hangar to speak to someone, while the other—Sabé, she soon learns her name—ushers her to the palace.

Sabé fills her in on a few of the details on the short walk, and Gabré thanks the Force for her ability to multitask, because as serious as the situation is, she can’t help but be mesmerized by the beauty of Naboo. The architecture is so unlike that on Coruscant, it’s like comparing a lightsaber and a blaster. Each is beautiful in its own way, but where on the city-planet everything is gleaming and sharp, here in this green place the buildings are smooth and warm, but still regal.

“What else can you tell me now?” she asks. Sabé hasn’t been forthcoming, but then again they are out in the open, and if an assassin is on the loose, this isn’t the right the place to talk. Nevertheless, she wants to know as much as she can before meeting the queen. 

Sabé hesitates. “Aside from what I mentioned, that there have been a few poisonings uncomfortably close to the queen’s quarters, not much more. It may sound preemptive, calling you in, but…”

“I understand. I can wait.” Because the rest of Sabé’s  sentence is _But the queen has enemies_. Even though her main course of action is peace, especially after the incident with the Trade Federation, there are those who resent her seemingly iron commitment to negotiation first.

Maybe even one of her own people.

Inside the palace, Gabré cranes her neck to glimpse the intricate ceiling, then quickly looks down. She may have Jedi reflexes, but she’s in an unfamiliar place, and she needs to watch her step. 

In more ways than one, she reminds herself grimly. She’s unaccustomed to the traditions of Naboo—you can study something all you like, but in practice it always appears different.

Queen Amidala actually rises from her seat as Gabré and Sabé enter the throne room. The level of respect is unexpected, but then Jedi have saved her life before.

Two of the best, and it makes Gabré wonder if she’s really qualified enough to be here. 

“Welcome, Master…?” Amidala looks from her to Sabé.

She flushes. Now that the queen has assumed her rank, it falls to Gabré to correct her, something she’s reluctant to do. “I’m still a padawan, Your Highness,” she says, “but please rest assured that I am capable of navigating the situation at hand.”

“I don’t doubt that in the slightest,” the queen replies, looking slightly amused.

With a groan of embarrassment, Gabré realizes that she still hasn’t identified herself. “My name is Gabré Rosehalk, apprentice of Master Chairo.” She straightens her tabards, then—getting down to business, because it’s the only way she knows how to salvage the conversation—continues, “Tell me what you suspect of this assassin, and how you believe I can best protect you.”

It’s Sabé, who has been silent since their arrival in the palace, who answers. “Our plan—with your acceptance, of course—was to have you join the ranks of handmaidens. It will keep you in proximity to the queen, and afford you anonymity while you investigate.”

It’s a decent plan, one she has already considered—and she hadn’t wanted to think too much of herself, but she does vaguely resemble the queen and her handmaidens enough to pass as one of them. Aside from the fact that Gabré has no idea what being an actual handmaiden entails and the scarcity of details, it can be managed.

“And what about the person you suspect is behind this?” she inquires. They can get to the details of how she should behave when undercover later. 

Amidala sighs. “At first, we assumed it was the Trade Federation. Their viceroy still has a score to settle for the failure of his blockade and invasion. However…” she trails off and glances over Gabré’s shoulder at Sabé. She doesn’t need the Force to know that the handmaiden nods in an urge for the queen to continue. “This assassin clearly knows the palace. They are aware of schedules and layout, and their choice of method for dispatching victims is something out of our history, during the Time of Suffering. A particular poison.”

“Has anyone identified it?” If someone has been able to determine what type of poison had been used, they could likely track its course around the planet.

“Not yet,” says Sabé, “though it is being worked on.”

“Good,” says Gabré. “In the meantime, the arrival of a Jedi must have attracted more attention than we want at a time like this. I think it’s time that I embrace my home planet and all its traditions.” 

The queen smiles. “We’re fortunate to have you as one of us. Unfortunately, I will not be able to aid in acclimatizing you to the palace, as I have a meeting with the Advisory Council, but Sabé—?”

“I’ll see to it that she’s found quarters near us. Yané will find you uniforms and fill you in on the basics of our duties until we’re all available to meet with the queen again.” Sabé directs this last bit at her. She sounds tense, and Gabré reminds herself that it’s because her monarch is in danger, not because she fears being usurped.

“Thank you,” she replies. “I look forward to meeting her.”

Then they’re dismissed, because despite the bond she feels between the two Nabooians, there’s still protocol to be followed. 

But it’s that bond that intrigues her as she’s led away through the magnificent halls, and the way that the queen seemed so confident when she pronounced Gabré as one of them. 

She’s not supposed to, but she wants to belong to Naboo as well as the Jedi, and she’s never been closer to getting her wish.

 

* * *

 

Gabré suspects that her arrival put the assassin on guard, because in the week or so since she’s melted into the background as one of the royal handmaidens, nothing has happened. Her Force-given instincts tell her to remain alert, though, which she would have done anyway—this isn’t the time to become complacent.

Yané tells her that the palace is not ordinarily _quite_ this quiet or tense in times of trouble. But Gabré thinks she understands the tendency to remain still when threatened; then you can see disaster coming.

Even so, she only senses the disturbance in the Force that accompanies the next assassination attempt in the nick of time. All that tips her off is a little flutter in the back of her mind, and then she gets the sensation of _act now, act right now_. Her lightsaber glows to life as she draws it, a blinding white, and slices the dart out of the air. 

Immediately, the cadre of handmaidens springs into action, leaping to defensive positions and pulling out their sleek blaster pistols, aiming at the top of one of the windows behind the throne.

They’re aiming at the wrong spot, Gabré notes, her mind working lightning-quick to determine the trajectory. She runs behind the pillar to the right of the throne and calls on the Force to _jump_. It carries her to a ledge, a perfect firing position.

But even with the speed afforded by her Jedi reflexes, the would-be assassin is already gone. 

“Kriff,” she says, glancing around. She hasn’t learned how to read Force signatures yet—well, doesn’t know enough to be particularly skilled at it—so there’s no solid way of telling which way they went from here. Or rather, from outside, because Gabré feels a breeze on her face. She follows it until she emerges onto a different ledge on the palace exterior, perched at a dizzying height. 

She glances around, reaching out with her senses. What she touches on, however, is not a path but an object. She locates it easily, not just because she can feel its presence in the Force. It glints out of the corner of her eye: the thin metal needle of a dart, inset into a dark wooden base fletched with Tik-tak feathers. She picks it up, wishing she had the ability, as some other Jedi seem to have, to feel the intent or emotions of a person who last handled an object. 

Gabré pauses for a moment, realizing she has a decision to make: does she pursue the attacker, or return to the throne room with the evidence the assassin has accidentally left behind? With every second, they slip further away.

Ultimately, she determines the best course of action is to go back inside and bring the dart along with her. Perhaps someone—one of the handmaidens, a guard, even one of the researchers working to identify the poison from previous attempts—can figure out its origin. She tucks it into a pocket inside her cloak.

She slips back along the ledge, the wind tugging at her tan tabards and the ties of her red belt, until she reaches the window and reenters the palace. 

Pausing at the place where the assassin took their shot, she peers down at the scene below: half the handmaidens have vacated the throne room, with an equal amount of security guards also gone. Having determined that there’s no other imminent threat, those that have remained in the throne room are standing down, possibly waiting for her to return. Gabré jumps down, landing light on her feet, knees bent.

“Anything?” asks Captain Panaka. 

“Too quick,” she replies, “which leads me to believe that whoever is targeting the queen has much more familiarity with the layout of the palace than I anticipated. There’s also this.” She draws out the dart and proffers it to Panaka.

He takes it, turning it over in his hands, frowning. “Looks Gungan-made to me.”

Gabré’s gaze flickers over to Amidala. She knows that the friendship between the two peoples began recently, within the last decade. Accusing the Gungans of attempting to assassinate the queen would be a huge breach of that newborn alliance. 

Amidala holds out her hand. “Let me see.” She still holds her own blaster pistol, though she’s put the safety back on. Her head of security hands it over, and she holds it up to the natural light streaming through the window, twisting it back and forth until she’s satisfied.

Or rather, dissatisfied, because the queen frowns as well. “It does appear that way.” She hands the dart off to Eirtaé without issuing any instructions. That doesn’t impede Eirtaé from understanding and heading off with it—Gabré guesses she’s meant to deliver it to someone who can definitively authenticate it.

Then Amidala returns her attention to the little knot of people surrounding her, specifically Sabé. “Is our ambassador to the Gungans still in the swamps?”

Sabé glances up, as if the date is broadcast on the ceiling rather than somewhere in her mind. “She’s scheduled to return for the bi-monthly briefing tomorrow.”

“Comm her. Tell her to drop everything and return at once. And…” Amidala hesitates, as if reluctant to believe even for a moment that the Gungans, any Gungan, have reason to attack. “Tell her to be cautious.”

Sabé leaves the throne room as well to visit the comm suite and contact the Nabooian ambassador. As soon as she’s gone, Amidala asks Gabré, “I do not believe that the Gungans would do this, especially not without any cause. Do you sense anything?”

Though it pains her to admit it, Gabré answers, “Not now. But I agree with you—whoever did this knows the palace well, and most Gungans don’t, unless I’m mistaken. But I don’t need the Force to guess that regardless of their actual involvement, we are meant to think that the Gungans are in the thick of this plot.”

 

* * *

 

Eluned, the Naboo’s ambassador to the Gungans, arrives breathless and nearly in a frenzy. She’s barely through the door of the throne room, wearing a traveling cloak damp with swamp water, when she says, “The Globe of Peace has disappeared from Otoh Gunga.”

“What?” asks the queen, a little startled. Compared to her, the faces of her handmaidens are nakedly shocked. “Eluned, come closer. Sit and slow down, but tell us everything.”

That a relic of the Naboo is missing is the first thing on the ambassador’s mind—even going to so far as to take precedence over another assassination attempt on Amidala—must be significant. Gabré is impatient for the woman to get to the point, but she lets that frustration bleed out, replacing it with the serenity that only the Force can bring. In that moment she can hazard a guess as to why the ambassador mentioned the theft first. She waits for Eluned to confirm it.

“Right before I received your communication summoning me back to Theed, I was told that the Globe of Peace had been taken from the Gungan’s capital city. They believe…” The woman hesitates, evidently gathering her courage, and continues, “They believe that you ordered the retrieval of the Globe, and are considering it an act of aggression.”

Yes, that was what Gabré had expected to hear.

There’s silence in the throne room until Amidala makes a noise not unlike a snort of disbelief. “That’s ludicrous. The Gungans know that I have fully committed our people to mutual support. Were that partnership ever to be dissolved, it would be done officially, through the proper channels.”

“Your Highness, I know that’s true. However, in my time at Otoh Gunga, I’ve heard rumors of certain elements of Gungan society who believe it’s inevitable you’ll renege on your promise.”

While Eluned speaks, Gabré puts what pieces she has of this mystery together in her mind. Something about the timing doesn’t quite add up—is there too small of a gap between the Globe of Peace being stolen, and the assassination attempts? When did each of them occur? Simply because the ambassador hadn’t yet heard of the theft didn’t mean it hadn’t taken place much earlier, perhaps before Gabré even arrived on the planet.

“In that case, it seems to me there’s only one thing to be done,” Amidala says. “We must retrieve the artifact and return it safely to Otoh Gunga.”

The suggestion snaps Gabré out of her thoughts. She doesn’t offer an opinion since it’s not her place to advise on this, not really. Her sole concern is the queen’s safety, and that doesn’t seem to be in question here—

Until it suddenly is. Before Gabré can protest, Amidala herself volunteers to spearhead a mission into Lianorm Swamp to search for the relic. For a moment, she’s surprised the queen wants to handle this personally; then she remembers reading about Amidala’s commitment to hands-on change and governance.

Plus, trekking into the swamp must seem tame in comparison to the invasion incidents.

Quickly, teams are decided upon—who will go, and who will stay behind in Theed to work on things from a more political angle. 

She wants to ask if perhaps the queen shouldn’t be focus her attention on that, but what Gabré actually says is, “Your dedication to rectifying the situation is commendable. And obviously, I don’t have a prayer of stopping you. But given the timing of everything—the theft, the assassination attempts—it would be wise to look beyond the surface for an attacker.” The more she thinks about it, the more she is convinced it’s not Gungans behind this plot.

Smiling at her, somehow comforting in her assuredness, Amidala says, “I understand. That will be taken care of while we are out in the swamps. And there is a plan for that, too, if you’re concerned about my safety—remember?”

 

* * *

 

When she returns to Coruscant, the Jedi Council will add “improper use of the Force” to her list of un-Jedi-like qualities, Gabré thinks grimly, wrinkling her nose and attempting to manipulate the air to relieve some of the itching on her face. She’s already been reprimanded by one of the handmaidens for smudging her white makeup, but she desperately needs to scratch. So she draws on her training and uses the Force, simultaneously trying to compartmentalize and banish the sensation from her mind.

How Queen Amidala can deal with this thick makeup every day is beyond her. And the clothes—completely impractical for a trek through the swamps. Gabré wishes she was wearing her comfortable, light tunic in tan and red, but instead she’s wearing a black and red battle dress. 

At least she can wear boots and Amidala had said a headdress was unnecessary. Thank the Force for _that_ , because Gabré doesn’t know how badly one of those monstrous hairpieces would have compromised her agility.

She’s glad of the new aspect of her mission, as awful as the circumstances might be. It keeps her from dwelling for too long on the fact that not only does she love Naboo as much as she always imagined, she is also, bizarrely, posing as its queen. Going from wishing to set foot on the idyllic planet’s surface just once to acting as the planet’s ruler—even if it is in the name of safety—boggles her mind. And she needs to clear up her headspace, because there are more significant things happening than her finally achieving a childhood dream.

With every step, muck squelches beneath her feet and creeps up the side of her boots, making her wonder how they’re going to track down the Globe of Peace—and hopefully, whoever stole it—if they can be heard coming from a mile away. 

Thankfully, everyone on the expedition has remained relatively silent since leaving Theed, realizing it’s best if they only break the silence when absolutely necessary. Maybe it won’t be quite so easy to detect them. Still, a few of the guards that have tagged along whisper back and forth, discussing who might be behind all this. Amidala shoots them a dagger-filled glance or two, but she’s dressed as a handmaiden at the moment; they’re far from concerned about disobeying her orders.

Attention split between the people behind her and contemplating who might have a motive to frame Amidala, it takes a moment to hear the repetitive noise of something that sounds uncannily like laughter ahead on the path.

Not-quite-human laughter.

Gabré wills herself not to reach for her lightsaber, hidden in the folds of her dress. The sound is high-pitched, and though technically that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, she feels confident that it belongs to something small.

Behind her, the murmuring dies off. Waves of concern emanate from the group. Sensing one or two people drawing their weapons, she gestures for them to return their blasters to their holsters, knowing that whatever it is won’t show itself if there’s an imminent threat.

She waits until all the blasters are securely strapped in before heading down the path, treading as silently as possible through all the mud, and calling, “Please, come out. We won’t hurt you, we just want to ask you some questions.”

The plea is assuming a lot: that whoever is listening has seen anything, wants to speak to them, even that they understand Basic. And it sounds undeniably weak to Gabré’s ears, but what else is she supposed to say, exactly? She’s undercover, but she doesn’t want to assume Amidala’s authority, and besides—what if it’s a Gungan? Identifying the group may not be the wisest move.

So the relief she feels when a small figure steps out of the swampy undergrowth onto the path is palpable. When they get closer, it’s not just relief but surprise. The creature approaching the group has dark, triangle-shaped ears on top of their head, reddish fur all over, and walks upright on two legs. They’re an Amaran—she hadn’t realized that species had made their way this far in the galaxy.

The vulpine alien is also wearing a long tunic and pointing a large stick at them, their bushy tail sticking out straight behind them for balance.

Despite herself, she smiles, because the sight is just _adorable._

“Who’s that?” they demand. “This is my swamp!”

So they _do_ speak Basic, Gabré thinks, wiping the smile off her face. To be fair to them, strange people are apparently invading the place they live; they have a right to ask who.

“I am Queen Amidala,” says Gabré, crouching down so she and the Amaran are eye-to-eye. Gesturing at the people assembled behind her, she adds, “These are my friends. What’s your name?”

“Paz,” the furry alien says, looking over Gabré’s shoulder. Their eyes narrow, as if determining whether or not to pounce. “What are you doing here?”

Paz. She likes that, but decides not to mention it in case it drives the Amaran away. She says, “We’re looking for something lost or stolen. Have you seen anything strange here?”

“There are lots of things strange to humans here,” the Amaran says matter-of-factly. 

Gabré shrugs a little, as this is invariably true. Even in a galaxy as wide and weird and wonderful as this one, there are still some things that startle at first. Until you get used to them. “What we’re looking for isn’t as strange to humans. What I should have said is that it would be out of place in the swamp.”

“Oh, _that_ ,” says Paz, as if they know exactly what she’s talking about. “Yes, there is a strange thing here. Glowing. I have seen it from far away.”

Furtive glances pass between Gabré and the queen. So it’s out here, the Globe of Peace. They just have to locate it. “Can you take us to it?” she asks, before remembering that this creature is a bit more literal than others. She amends her statement to, “Will you take us to it?”

Paz grins, baring their sharp little teeth. “For a price.”

“What do you want?” Amidala asks, wary, coming up beside Gabré.

“Food. And credits,” Paz adds hastily, holding up a paw. “I want to buy pants. Maybe boots, like you wear. My paws get sore.”

“Deal,” says Gabré. She doesn’t bother to ask what the little Amaran’s price is; whatever the cost, she knows that Amidala will be willing to pay, if it’s to secure the future of her planet. “You help us, we’ll help you.”

She has no clue what it is, but she feels predisposed to trust the alien, and she hopes she’s not being led astray by a fuzzy and cute but vicious face. Still, if this was some sort of trap, the Force would warn her. Instead, it keeps nudging her towards Paz, like they’re meant to stick together.

Regardless, as Paz waves them forward, saying, “This way!” and pointing with their branch into the heart of the swamp, Amidala grabs her arm. “Are you sure this is a wise decision?”

“Wise? Not entirely. Necessary…” Gabré trails off, takes a breath. “Yes. I think we can trust them. Have you noticed they’re entirely alone? I don’t sense any other similar life forms near by, so it’s not as if Paz is leading us into a trap. And besides,” she adds grimly, holding out her arm and gesturing for Amidala to walk beside her on the path, “what other choices do we have?”

 

* * *

 

The path that Paz leads them on through Lianorm Swamp is winding, and several times Gabré feels the gazes of the rest of the group on her, and their silent questioning, through the Force. But she trusts the Amaran to do what they said. Leading the group of Nabooians to the Globe of Peace should be a simple enough task.

It becomes a lot simpler—for one of them, at least—when one by one they have to scramble over an enormous fallen tree trunk, only to see Paz leap nimbly over it, higher than Gabré had been aware an Amaran could jump.

_I wonder…_

“Paz,” she says, choosing her words carefully, remembering that she is impersonating the queen at this moment and cannot reveal all her knowledge of the Force at this moment, “how long have you been able to do this? Can you do anything else like it?”

Of course, her discretion will be moot if the kit really does have a grasp of the Force, because then they can likely sense it in her as well. 

“Always,” they say. Rather than answer the second question, they kick a rock. When it reaches the top of its arc, instead of continuing on its descent, it hovers for a moment, then thuds straight down to the ground. Then, with a flick of their tail, Paz adds, “As long as I can remember.”

“You didn’t seem too surprised when we showed up,” says Amidala. Evidently, she’s caught on to Gabré’s line of questioning. “Did you somehow see us coming?”

Paz laughs again, and this time it’s not quite as unsettling. “Yes, in the Force. Silly humans. I have seen lots of things before. Sometimes things that are lost like you, but mostly things _I_ want to find. But the Force wanted me to find _you_ this time,” they say confidently. They also sound a little annoyed about it.

“I believe you,” Gabré says. Based on her secondhand knowledge, the Force has done much stranger things. Though now she knows that the Amaran will help them—hopefully, no matter what—she’s also curious about their life in the swamp, and how the Force helps them live it. “What things do you normally find?”

“Food. Things the others can’t track in the swamp that they want to trade to others off-planet.” Paz goes still suddenly, whiskers twitching. 

The group stops at this signal, and it’s not until the vulpine alien relaxes again that they carry on. There are quite a few dangerous, stealthy creatures in the swamps of Naboo, all of which could end their lives in one fell swoop—but Gabré _should_ be able to sense one of them coming.

Except whatever Paz sensed, she didn’t, and she wonders if they felt it in the Force or with their mundane but still alien senses.

It’s a little perturbing.

But while Gabré is curious about why this little kit seems so strong in the Force—and why she still can’t figure out what apparently alarmed them—Amidala has moved on, more interested in their life in the swamp.

She doesn’t let on whether or not she’s heard that there are Amarans that she may or may not be responsible for living beyond the human cities, but she does ask, “How many of you are out here?”

“In this swamp? Maybe fifty. Other places, more or less, depending on how many humans are nearby.” 

Most aliens Gabré’s encountered would be wary at such a line of questioning; they’d see it as a prelude to some kind of attack until proven otherwise. But Paz seems open to it, so she decides it’s worth pressing further. “You said you look for things in the swamp that others want to trade. Are you the only one? Why don’t they go in themselves?”

“Because of the Force,” Paz says matter-of-factly, a reminder of how different they are from their kin, even though the Force moves through all creatures. “The world is bigger to me and sharper. So I can see danger when they can’t. Plus,” they add, now scuffing at the decaying leaves on the ground, “no one else will come with me.”

Now Gabré senses they’re getting closer to the truth. The Force slows down around Paz and she gets a strong wave of melancholy. “Why?”

Paz fixes her with their amber gaze. “Amarans are like all others: superstitious and wary of the strange. So you know why.”

She does. While Jedi are for the most part accepted, occasionally even revered, those who are strong in the Force but untrained can often be ostracized, especially in communities with fewer connections to the Core worlds and the Republic—and it seems that this is what has happened with Paz. 

“Then why do you help them? Go into the swamp and bring them whatever they’re profiting from?” Amidala asks, her voice tight. The injustice of the situation must rankle her, Gabré thinks, and it likely doesn’t hurt her sympathy that Paz is a precious and likely rambunctious ball of fluff.

Paz shrugs their slim shoulders. “I get food and a place to stay in the camp. I am okay with that.”

She makes up her mind there and then to help Paz. The little creature might be all right with the way things are, but the galaxy—the _universe_ —is so big, and if the Force has brought the two of them together, it has to have been for a reason other than her mission. Gabré would have found the Globe of Peace on her own, eventually, but Paz showed up instead. 

There’s much more to life than being an outcast in a swamp on a Mid-Rim planet, she wants to tell them.

But Gabré will settle for showing Paz all of this, starting with the reward the Nabooians are likely to bestow on the Amaran for helping to stop the second near-war in four years. After that? Well, by then she’ll have had a vision of what to do next. She hopes.

 

* * *

 

“It is up ahead,” Paz says after about another hour of travel. The group doesn’t seem too worn out from the journey, and that comes as a relief once the little alien tells them what’s waiting for them. They’re going to need that energy.

“A _narglatch_ lair?” Amidala questions, her voice tight with dread. 

Her concern is legitimate, Gabré thinks. Narglatches are fierce, stealthy, and even though some have been tamed, wild ones are still dangerous. There are enough people in the search party that they should be able to best it—even without her wielding her lightsaber—but that doesn’t mean she looks forward to the scuffle.

The queen continues, “What would a narglatch want with the Globe of Peace?”

Paz shakes their head, ears twitching, listening. “The narglatch only guards it. A human is the one who put it there.”

Gabré and Amidala exchange glances. So it is a Nabooian, then, who is responsible for the theft, if not the assassination attempts themselves. 

“You saw them? What did they look like?” the queen asks.

“It was a male human. Tall, with curly hair your color. He was wearing yellow and orange, like the sun.”

Gabré pauses, stumped as to who it could be. Honestly, the clothing description matches that of a Naboo pilot, but that leaves them with a question of motive, and she isn’t so sure that one of the planet’s defenders would put the society in jeopardy like this.

Amidala must share similar thoughts, because she shakes her head. “Recovery first. Figuring this out can come later. It’s time.”

“Is there a plan?” asks one of the few guards who’s come with them. 

“Yes,” says Paz with determination. “You attack, and I will retrieve your Globe!”

They’ll probably need a slightly more sophisticated plan than that, but Gabré likes the kit’s spirit. The group moves into place, blasters at the ready.

Before they can enter the cave, however, the narglatch leaps out, putting them on the defensive. Paz darts under it, and the giant cat-beast hardly notices the kit slipping under its bulk. 

Gabré, lifting her blaster, wishes she could use her lightsaber, her Force-honed reflexes. This would all be over in a matter of seconds. But in case the thief is somehow watching their battle, she can’t give away the ruse.

“Use stun settings if you have them!” she shouts, whirling to the left as the beast dives for the spot where she stood moments before. “We don’t need to kill it, just keep it from killing us.”

“Is that all?” Amidala manages to quip, rolling out of the way herself, then squeezing off two shots. She has even better aim than Gabré expected: they both land in almost exactly the same spot on the narglatch’s shoulder. It rears back, giving some of the guards with them an opportunity to rush it, attacking its exposed dark blue underside. 

And then Paz, with the Globe—about a third of the size of their body—stuffed under their shirt to dull its shine, runs between the narglatch’s rear legs and bolts for the trees. 

Smart kit, she thinks. Hiding its glow would keep it from attracting the narglatch’s attention.

Unfortunately, their scurrying off into the swamp has done the trick instead. It turns its head, tracking the sudden burst of movement, and lurches away from the humans. 

No commands need to be given—all of them rush after it, because if the narglatch manages to overtake Paz, Gabré is fairly confident it will devour the little Amaran. Not to mention they’ll lose the Globe again.

Subtly, she manipulates the atmosphere around the beast with the Force to slow its momentum. A heartbeat later, she feels someone else use the Force, doing the same thing.

Paz’s signature in the Force is strong, and she can almost feel the effort they’re putting into halting the narglatch in its tracks. She redoubles her own, until the surprised and furious creature can’t move another step.

“You can’t hold it forever,” she tells Paz, deliberately leaving herself out of the conversation. The group delicately walks around the beast to where the Amaran stands on a fallen tree trunk. She can help hold it, of course, but can’t let on that they won’t be doing it alone. “What will you do when we’re gone and you need to follow us?” Because of course they aren’t going to leave Paz behind.

“I have lots of tricks,” they say, baring their teeth slightly, in what Gabré suspects is an attempt to smile. It partially works. “He will not catch me when I let him go.”

Amidala opens her mouth as if to protest, but Gabré cuts her off. The faster they leave, the sooner they can return the Globe to the Gungans.

“All right,” she replies. “I trust you. We’ll wait for you at the above-water entrance to Otoh Gunga. You know where that is?”

“Yes. Half a standard hour,” the Amaran says. “I will be there.”

Gabré nods and turns to the group of Nabooians. “Let’s go.”

“But the Globe of Peace,” one of the guards protests once they are out of earshot, on their way to the meeting place. “Your Highness, you truly believe that the little Amaran will be there?”

“I do.” She’s felt Paz’s sincerity in the Force, and knows there is a bond there besides the promise of payment in clothing. It’s the first time the Amaran has felt needed and valued, and they aren’t likely to abandon the people who made them feel that way. 

The queen nods in agreement. “We have been in this situation before,” she says, skirting around a large puddle of mud. “Don’t discount the small and unproven. Sometimes it is they who change everything.”

 

* * *

 

They’re lucky they weren’t dragged before the Gungan council in chains, Gabré reflects, but then they have to afford a ruler some modicum of respect. It had been Amidala’s suggestion that they give the Globe to Paz to smuggle into Otoh Gunga some other way—there was always a chance that if they hadn’t given it up, one of the guards might have said they were attempting to smuggle it away, never mind that they had been coming _towards_ the underwater city with it.

In another stroke of fortune, Eluned, the ambassador, beat them to the city in an attempt to smooth things over until their arrival, which may have helped their situation. So when they arrive in the chamber, escorted by two guards with their electropikes, the reaction isn’t much more than a shocked murmur. 

There’s a much larger reaction when Paz drops through the ceiling, clutching the Globe of Peace, and there are shouts of surprise.

The Gungans know about the decoy practice, so it isn’t a complete breach of protection procedures when Amidala steps forward to speak. This is probably for the best, since despite her burgeoning love for Naboo, Gabré doesn’t have half the practice or passion as the true queen.

“Boss Nass, I have come to return what was given to you and rightfully belongs to your people,” she says, gesturing to Paz, who is crouched between her and Gabré.

“Queen Amidala,” replies Boss Nass, “I did not want to believe that you would break our peace so soon.” He makes a _tsk_ sound and continues, “Your ambassador here claims you were attacked. We had nothing to do with it.”

“I confess at first I also had my doubts, but we have been investigating since learning of the theft. We know this is the work of someone who intends to divide us.”

“And who would that be?” the Gungan asks. 

Gabré takes the opportunity to step in. “At the moment, we have no answer, but circumstances point towards a Nabooian with a grievance against the peace your two civilizations have,” she says. “And their attempt to destabilize it nearly succeeded.”

“It would have,” Amidala agrees, “if not for our new friend here.” She gestures to Paz, who stands up straight now that the attention is on them. “They aided us in the Globe’s recovery.” Catching the Amaran’s eye, she tilts her head in the direction of Boss Nass. 

Paz slinks forward, adjusting their grasp on the Globe so it doesn’t slip from their furry paws. When they reach the row of council seats—far above the vulpine alien’s reach—they close their eyes and push gently upward with the Force. The Globe of Peace floats until it is level with Boss Nass’s gaze. More than a little surprised, he takes it.

“Are you with the Jedi?” he asks, looking down at the assembled humans. Gabré wills herself not to put pressure on Paz by looking at them, even though she wants to know if the kit thinks so.

“For now, yes,” Paz replies, lowering their arms. “But perhaps I will return to the swamp when we are done.”

Boss Nass leans back, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, a swamp dweller, are you? Consider us grateful to have you as a resident.”

“Thank you,” says Paz. “But if the two of you are at peace, maybe I will travel between.”

“It’s very different, but I think you’ll like Theed,” says Gabré, though she’s certain that the Amaran will at least be impressed.

Now the ambassador interrupts. “The capital ought to be your next destination, Your Highness,” Eluned says to Amidala. “I believe that security is making significant headway in their inquiries.” 

Amidala nods to her ambassador, then faces the row of Gungans. “If you’ll allow it, I’d like to leave Eluned here to coordinate a response, to show Naboo that our friendship remains solid. This will have stirred up fringe anti-Gungan elements in our society, and we need to stand together to combat them.”

“Of course,” says Boss Nass. “And we will send a message to our people as well, to clear up the situation. Compared to the Trade Federation, this is nothing.”

“Agreed,” says Amidala. “Eluned, you have until tomorrow evening. Can you work with that?”

“Absolutely,” replies the ambassador.

The queen assigns two guards to remain with Eluned, and the rest of them are escorted to a transport that will carry them to the surface. They speed through the watery core of the planet, everyone marveling at the side of Naboo they have never seen, that they have only been able to witness with the cooperation of the Gungans, and Gabré meditates on the darkness pressing around them to keep her inner turbulence at bay. 

 

* * *

 

While Gabré hasn’t been in as many long-lasting combat situations as her fellow Jedi, she will also be the first to admit that this mission has perhaps taken longer than it should have. How will the Council perceive her performance on Naboo?

Now is not the time to be asking herself that question, she thinks sternly as the group returns to Theed.

A shockingly young-looking security guard runs up to meet them as they approach the palace, tired but still on the alert for an assassin. The walkways are uncovered, making the group vulnerable from above. 

But apparently, there’s no cause for alarm, not anymore.

“We’ve detained the person responsible for the attempts on your life,” the guard tells her. 

Gabré fights the urge to let her gaze slide to Amidala, who stands beside her. They’re still in disguise, and she doesn’t want to be the one responsible for giving away the ruse and completely ruining its use in the future.

“And who was it?” she asks in her best impression of the queen’s voice.

“We believe it’s best if you see for yourself,” the guard says, thankfully, and Gabré acquiesces. 

There’s got to be some way they can delay the need for the queen to see her attacker, and then Gabré remembers that in this moment, she _is_ the queen. What she says, goes. 

“Very well,” she says, nodding. “We’ll clean up, and then we’ll attend to this.”

The guard steps back, and takes in her disheveled appearance as if for the first time. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Clean up?” asks Paz from behind the skirt of her battle dress. “I don’t want to take a bath.”

“You don’t need to if you’d rather not,” says Amidala, “although it certainly wouldn’t hurt. You are a hero, after all.”

In the end, Paz takes their bath, with only a little egging on from Gabré. After she and the queen switch positions a final time—it feels so wonderful to be back in her tunic, free from all that heavy fabric—she and the now-fluffy Amaran meet up with the queen and her handmaidens to finally face the assassin.

Once Amidala’s settled in her seat in the high-ceilinged chamber of the throne room, the security forces bring in the guilty party. From her position slightly behind and to the right of the queen’s throne, all she perceives is a young man with curly brown hair and a defiant expression.

But the queen recoils. “Elio?”

Gabré shifts forward, speaking quietly. “You know this man?”

“Yes,” she says, not glancing back. “He is my opponent in the next monarchical election.”

At the news, Gabré scowls. _This_ is a person the people of Naboo thought was worthy of potentially replacing Amidala? No, she can’t believe that he would have been permitted to come this far in the process if his opinions were known. And if he did, well… In that case, she foresees a reconfiguration of the system in the future.

“Your Highness, it’s lovely to see you again.”

“And under such alarming circumstances, for you especially,” she replies, letting his insolent tone roll off her. “You have much to answer for.”

“The same might be said of you, respectfully,” Elio volleys back.

Gabré hears no respect in his voice.

“You and the faction of whom you have clearly taken on the mantle of representation were heard, but we live in a democracy, Elio. Nabooians from all over the planet—particularly those that live near the swamps, I might add—collectively decided that it was in our best interest to cultivate a relationship with those with which we share the planet,” Amidala says. “Would you argue that your voices should have been given more weight than theirs?”

With just one question, Gabré realizes, the queen has put Elio between a cliff and a Rancor. If he admits that he believes that he and those he speaks for were not treated justly in whatever hearing was held, then he is in effect claiming that the opinions of those few matter more than those who will have to live with the results of the decision, and Naboo places a great deal of emphasis on merit and fairness. That alone would seemingly disqualify him to run for election. And even if he says no, he is still guilty of an attempted assassination. Either way, he has no return from this moment. 

Elio refuses to answer, which to Gabré’s mind, is a revealing answer in itself.

If the queen requests it of her, she will use the Force to make him tell the truth, never mind that it is far outside her mission parameters, never mind that this problem belongs to Naboo now, for as much as she’s come to feel kinship for these people… She’s not sure she really is one of them.

But she feels she would still do anything to make it so.

She knows she will have to address these emotions, if not with the Council, with herself. But for now, Gabré holds onto one of Paz’s small furry paws and listens as Amidala declares that there will be a trial for the Gungans and Nabooians to decide his fate together.

She does her best not to think of how she has very little time for this togetherness left.

 

* * *

 

The night before she’s meant to return to Coruscant before moving on to her next assignment, Gabré skirts the periphery of the celebration being held in the largest hall in the palace. By all rights, she should be finding some joy in it. Far from being a city-wide gala, the attendees consist of the queen, her handmaidens, advisors, all the guards who accompanied them on their mission, members of high-ranking families, and Gungans. There will be a larger festival later, she supposes, as the Nabooians and Gungans move further towards harmony. 

Amidala will need someone to defend her from the people who oppose that harmony, she tries to tell herself, though it’s not convincing. The Jedi Council would never go along with it. The handmaidens and guards are more than capable of monitoring the threat, and with the conclusion of Elio’s trial—which she suspects will not have a positive outcome for the man, as even bigoted Nabooians have renounced his methods—there is much less to worry about. Nothing but the future, and there is no way to truly plan for navigating that sea.

Gabré leans against a pillar on the balcony, still as one of the statues that adorn the palace’s entrance, wearing her freshly cleaned Jedi robes. Amidala had attempted to offer her a dress similar to the ones worn by the handmaidens, and it had hurt to reject it, but it’s time she actually worked on distancing herself from all this. 

Except no matter where she looks, she sees something she’s reluctant to leave behind. If she looks out over Theed, it’s the sun setting beyond the city; if she glances back into the hall, it’s Paz in a burgundy and gold ensemble that clashes magnificently with their reddish fur, dancing with all the handmaidens. 

So instead she stares up at the sky, keeping her feet firmly planted on the ground, and pretends not to notice when Paz comes toward her a few minutes later, leading the queen by the hand. 

They stand there for a moment, then when Gabré doesn’t acknowledge them, Paz says, “Padmé tells me you are leaving.” For good measure, the kit pokes her.

Gabré drags her eyes away from the violet and coral light-rimmed clouds. “Yes. I have to return to the Order; my job here is done.”

“But is it? You can teach me about the Force! Isn’t that also a Jedi’s job? And Padmé has not said it, but she would miss you being here.”

Repressing a smile at Paz’s enthusiasm, Gabré says, “Is that true, Your Highness?”

Amidala wears a white dress with gold and pale rose pink accents; it’s easy to see why Anakin Skywalker once described her as an angel.“It’s true that you were invaluable in rectifying the situation here, but also true that I feel as if there’s so much of this planet left for you to explore. You’ve spent so little time with us, and yet… Well, I know you were concerned about being a stranger, but it really did feel as if you were one of us.”

For a moment, Gabré’s heart soars, because this is what she has waited her whole life to hear. “I appreciate that. And I love it here. But I have a duty,” she tells Paz, kneeling down so they are face to face, “to protect the whole galaxy. Not just Amidala. Not just Naboo.”

“But you will come back if we need you?” Paz asks, getting a crafty gleam in their eyes. 

“Not for fake disasters, so don’t get any ideas,” says Gabré, but she’s grinning, already feeling lighter. “For a real emergency, yes. Maybe even for short stops between missions, who knows?”

“Then there is nothing for you to be sad about,” announces the Amaran, taking Gabré’s hand with her free paw. “You do not have to be somewhere to belong there. You don’t have to know people to belong with them someday, because I didn’t know about you and here we are. You belong with the Jedi even while you are here, so why not belong to Naboo when you are elsewhere?”

Arching an eyebrow, Gabré says, “Very insightful of you. Sounds like the Force connecting us.”

“As can vidscreens,” says the queen. “The galaxy’s smaller than ever. And if you’re concerned about how the Council will react, I imagine it’s part of why they chose you for this assignment. Maybe they could sense that this time, an attachment was necessary. Now come on, this party isn’t just for Paz.”

“Only mostly,” allows Paz, much more confident and playful now that they’re in a place where they’re valued. Leading the two humans back towards the gathering, they add, “Come, we are going to dance.”

Shoulder to shoulder with the queen and slightly bent over so Paz can walk, rather than swinging between the women, Gabré lets herself be led into warm, light-suffused hall. “All right, but I don’t know any of the traditional dances.”

“Neither do I,” says Paz, “but it is never too late to learn.”


End file.
